Balance
by Tsuru-san
Summary: Sandy and Pitch are like two sides of the same coin as the cliche says. (Pitch/Sandy, written for the Dreamwidth kink meme)


**A/N**: Another from the Dreamwidth kink meme. ;D The prompt:

_"(Any/Sandman) - floating cinnamon-covered pastry"  
The somewhat mysterious title was meant to indicate that cute little Sanderson Mansnoozie actually __**tastes sweet**__. His mouth is sugarplum with cinnamon, his skin has a sweet milky flavor and even his AHEM reproductive matter is flavored like vanilla custard._

_And which Guardian doesn't like sweets...? Sexy shenanigans ensue as they sample the dream-bringer, who, by the way, totally enjoys all the attention. Rating can actually go anywhere from almost-gen kissing to NC-17 filthy delicacy._

_Inclusion of Pitch will earn you a bonus over nine thousand._

* * *

_Part 1 - Pitch_

Neither of them had ever been human. Pitch Black and the Sandman—they have only ever been this. They have been here longer than the other Guardians, longer even than the Man in the Moon. They were imagined into life by the collective subconscious of early humanity and believed in until they at last took substantial form: the Sandman, Bringer of Good Dreams; Pitch Black, the Nightmare King.

The two have been known by many names over the many centuries—it comes with the job description, Pitch supposes. They are themselves, and yet they are more than themselves. They are concepts even as they are simultaneously people. The two beings have will and thought, but they are still subject to the whims and purposes they were born with.

And so it is hardly surprising that their form and personalities mimic their purposes.

Pitch looks like nightmares, all harsh and angular as he is. It's no coincidence that he has sometimes been mistaken for Death. The scent of smoke lingers in the dark being's wake along with the scent of roses just starting to wither. Pitch's voice has the cold ring of intimidation about it, and his touch is dry like the soft rasp of brittle parchment.

Sanderson, on the other hand, appears kind and comforting. He's gold like the sun and with a smile that's just as bright. He smells of sugar and almonds, and the Sandman's voice—on the very rare occasion he chooses to speak—sounds like the warmest lullaby. And Sanderson's touch, well, Pitch is intimately familiar with the warm, soothing feel of that.

And then there is one last thing. The two personifications also...have a taste. The idea sounds ludicrous on its own, but well, if the two beings look and smell and sound and feel like their elements, then why not taste as well?

Pitch knows Sanderson's taste too although the Nightmare King had fought against their closeness in the beginning. Pitch had hated it at first, how he'd been drawn to his counterpart—and hated even more that Sanderson seemed to feel the same way and wasn't repulsed. Such opposing forces should not be desirous of each other.

But Pitch was curious and enticed and perhaps the littlest bit lonesome, and it was fortunate for both of them that Sandy is patient. Their first time together turned into many more times after that, and every time Pitch still marvels at the literal sweetness of his lover.

A sugarplum tongue explores Pitch's mouth—deliciously, thoroughly—and the Nightmare King moans in spite of himself. To his pleasant surprise, the Sandman's skin is just as lovely, the creamy flavor of milky tea. It is all rather addicting. Pitch doesn't want to admit that, but it's the truth.

Cinnamon lips against his own, and warm hands touching him tenderly—these are the things Pitch has come to long for, and so he always comes back. Even when they argue, Pitch always comes back to Sanderson. He needs it almost. Golden arms embrace him, and Pitch's lips worship the other's round body. Sweet vanilla taste fills the Nightmare King's mouth as that honeyed voice gasps out "please", and Pitch just melts, the shadows in his heart retreating if only for a short while.

* * *

_Part 2 - Sandy_

They are, in a way, made for each other. It's a trite statement to be sure, but in the most frank sense, stripped of all its metaphor and nuance, Sanderson thinks those words hold true. After all, where would the shadows come from if no light cast them? And how could a light be bright if there was no darkness around it? Nature is very often made up of dualities, and Sandy and Pitch are no exception to this rule.

They are like two figures perched on opposite ends of a scale, forever trying to keep the weight balanced. They worked against each other in the beginning, one trying to trip the other up, but it was never worth it for even if there was a temporary victor, the scales would always start tipping wildly not long after.

Instead of fighting would it not be easier to maintain their footing, Sandy had argued, if they held onto each other? The Dreambringer spoke in all sincerity and with a touch of desire, and Pitch predictably rebuffed him. But only at first.

Good dreams can be as tenacious as fear and even more patient. The Sandman had made his offer—now he needed only wait for the Nightmare King to consider it thoroughly. And when Pitch finally did come around, Sandy had the shrewd grace not to tease his counterpart for his years of refusal.

Indeed, it was a pleasure to finally have permission to touch what he'd wanted for at least several centuries. Sandy cups Pitch's face tenderly, the pads of his thumbs smoothing over the pronounced arches of the Nightmare King's cheekbones. Pitch feels like he's entirely made up of sharp corners with no real hint of softness, but that's one of the things Sandy comes to enjoy most about his lover, the delight of exploring a body so very different from his own.

Those spindly hands, like stray spiders, trailing down Sandy's sides. Or the sound of a hastily indrawn breath, like the winds hissing through leafless branches.

Pitch's mouth is like dark red wine, lush and overpowering. It's a taste that Sandy could get drunk on all too easily. The kiss is full of wicked promise, and when the two beings pull back, the Sandman can't quite stifle the eager sigh that escapes him. Then those grey, lean fingers push past Sandy's lips, and the Dreambringer sucks obediently, tasting espresso. The burnt coffee flavor lingers even after Pitch has withdrawn his hand to reach between their hips, stroking them both together.

The Sandman shudders at the intense feeling, and he can't help but reach out to the Nightmare King with his hands and mouth. Pitch's collarbone is against Sandy's lips, green apple sour-sweetness on his tongue as if Pitch's skin was some forbidden fruit. In some cultures it's a pomegranate, but Sandy likes apples better, and that is his last properly coherent thought before Pitch touches him right _there_. Then Sandy's on his back with Pitch pressing down on top of him, and they just fit so _well_together.

To the golden being's surprise, the Nightmare King stays for a little while after they're finished and comes back again several nights later. And again after that. Eventually they start to talk of work and the humans, and the Sandman is also happy to find that his counterpart is much more likable company when the two of them work in tandem.

The metaphorical scale sits steadier now, and both humanity and its two dream keepers are the better for it.

_-end-_


End file.
